


Be In My Eye

by Grace_d



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, dandelion fluff, everlark fic exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 15:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_d/pseuds/Grace_d
Summary: Katniss Everdeen can't seem to avoid Peeta Mellark since the Revolution, and it's making her stomach hurt. A chance encounter will give her an opportunity to put some of that well-meaning boy advice from Delly Cartwright to the test.One shot from the Everlark fic exchange on tumblr, from a prompt by 567inpanem





	Be In My Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Written by: @reachingforaspark on tumblr, Grace_d on AO3  
> Prompt by: @567inpanem
> 
> Prompt: No one Katniss knew got reaped, and after the 75th the games stopped, hunting became easier, she’s looking forward to graduation, and she feels a growing attraction to boy with bread but she’s clueless as to what to do after 1 ½ decades of acting role of son her father never had and man of the house. She approaches problem like stalking game: observe. She learns a lot but realizes she needs help from only one person: popular merchant and Peeta expert Delly who’s thrilled to help in manhunt <3 
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply- This is a fan work and Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games

Peeta Mellark is everywhere since the Revolution. At the moment, he’s between me and my way back into the district. And he’s not alone.

I pull back into the tree-line, watching as he walks in circles around the meadow. Twin blonde heads flash in the sunlight. He’s got his niece, Ava, scooped against his broad chest with one arm, a bag tucked under the other. He must find what he’s looking for, because he sets Ava on her feet and pulls a blanket from his pack. Peeta always spends a few hours on a Sunday looking after his brother’s toddler.  


It’s a perfect spring day, and he’s picked the end where the wildflowers grow, under the overhang of the great oak tree that reaches across into the fence. Recently someone has hung a swing from the heavy branch, and it drifts softly in the breeze.  


Belatedly, I realise there’s no reason for me to be lurking in the woods. I have a hunting permit now, and special permission to be beyond the fence. I hear Delly’s cross voice in my head. _He’s just a boy_ , she’d told me, _not a damn bear. Stop hiding_. I’ve discovered that Delly Cartwright is an unexpectedly bossy ally. But for whatever reason I don’t feel like strolling out of the trees and interrupting this scene.  


Peeta is propped up on his forearms while his niece sits in front of him, babbling away. From here I can just hear her bright tones, punctuated by squeals as she occasionally reaches over to pat his face. Babies in Twelve are round cheeked and happy now, and Ava is no exception. My mother and Prim cooed for a week over her the first time she attended the new check-up clinic. I’m not one for babies normally, but now the Hunger Games are abolished, even I have a smile for Ava, with her dimpled chin and blonde curls.  


I can see Peeta’s concentrating, the tilt of his head familiar. It’s how he looks when he’s filling out the chalkboards in class, or listening to the New Panem broadcasts we get once a week from District Thirteen. I creep closer, sticking to the shadows until I can make out the dimple in his cheek as Ava pokes his nose. He catches her hand before it ends up in his eye and pretends to bite it. Ava squeals and toddles off, Peeta chasing her. Something about the scene makes my stomach hurt, and I brush it away.  


It’s just the normal discomfort I have when I look at Peeta lately. It’s worse when he smiles, and awful when he laughs. I’ve chalked it up to ongoing guilt about never thanking him for the bread, compounded by the realisation recently that Peeta has probably never thought twice about it. Since the Revolution he’s demonstrated his goodness a hundred times over, volunteering everywhere, at the school, for the new construction, he even carries clinic supplies from the train station for my mother.  


He’s left a sketchbook open on the blanket, pencil forgotten. My eyes linger on it for a second, but instead I track the two Mellark’s in the meadow. I walk parallel to their path, them in the sun, me in the trees, a fence between us, as Ava waddles from place to place ripping flowers from the ground and handing them to Peeta. He accepts each one with serious thanks. The sight of Peeta cupping fistfuls of daisies in his wide hands would be amusing if it wasn’t so achingly sweet. Something’s wrong with my damn stomach again. I’ll talk to Mum about it when I get home.  


He herds Ava back towards the shade, and distracts her with cut up apple slices while he picks up his pencil again. I realise if I climb out onto the branch supporting the swing I’ll probably be able to see what he’s doing, but I hesitate. There’s pretty good foliage cover, it’s not like I would be interrupting, but it feels like it’s crossing some kind of line. I try to remember if Delly said anything about that. Somehow I don’t think it’s come up yet. We’re still on the ‘how to say Hello to Peeta’ stage. Casting my mind about, I do remember her saying, _Show you’re interested in what he’s interested in_. Checking out his art is being interested right? I’ll just scoot out and scoot back before he even notices me.  


Deciding that sounds reasonable, I spin my game bag around my back and scale the tree, my handholds sure and steady. I inch along the branch on my stomach, shifting out until I’m almost overtop the swing. Ava’s still got an apple slice clutched in one hand, and a stick in the other, scratching it against the dirt. And Peeta is sliding his pencil against the paper, drawing. I suck a deep breath. It’s incredible. He’s loosely sketched Ava, crouched in a pile of wildflowers, plump fingers clasped around a stem. With each run over the outline he refines her soft form, lines becoming clearer as if he’s pulling her out of the page. It’s mesmerising, and I rest my head against the branch as I follow his hand across the page. The breeze blows my hair against my forehead and I relax into the tree.  


I watch Peeta’s hand gripping the pencil lightly, follow the line of his forearms watching the muscles underneath his skin ripple a little. The light hairs on his forearms glint gold as the breeze catches the light and dappled shadows play over his shoulders. Between the rustling leaves around me, the swishing of the grasses and the soft scratching of Peeta’s pencil, I feel trapped in a sort of dream. He flips the page, starting a new sketch, and a rope braid begins to form. My daydream is interrupted by Ava clambering on Peeta’s lap, showing a prize clutched in her hand.  


“Rock!” she demands, holding it out to him.  


“Thanks Ava,” he says, “What a pretty rock.”  


I smile a little to myself.  


“Apple!” She points to the basket and Peeta agrees, picking up a daisy and tucking it into her hair. It slips straight through her thin curls.  


“Tree!” she points again and Peeta attempts to tuck the daisy behind her ear. It falls out, dragged by the heavy head of the flower. “Bird!” she squeals, ducking out of Peeta’s reach. “Swing!” she points again.  


I bite my lip, holding back a laugh, as Peeta uselessly tries to fix the flower in her hair.  


“Girl!” Ava squeals.  


I freeze. Ava’s pointing directly at me. I wiggle backwards, trying to retreat.  


“Girl?” Peeta sounds confused as his head swings around. “Oh!”  


He’s seen me.  


“Hey Peeta.” I say lamely, sitting up with a little wave. “Fancy seeing you here.”  


“Hey Katniss,” he says, squinting up at me. “Fancy seeing you...up there.” The left corner of his mouth lifts.  


I scoot forwards and quickly lower myself down the rope swing. I drop onto the wooden seat. What did Delly say again? _Smile, (no not like that Katniss, you aren’t a maniac), and be nice_. I force a smile onto my face. It feels like a grimace. Two pairs of blue eyes watch me. I’m suddenly aware that I’m a hot, sweaty mess, with a bag full of dead animals, and there’s a leaf in my braid.  


“Katniss, this is Ava,” Peeta says politely, flipping his notebook closed. “Ava, this is my friend Katniss.”  


She tucks herself into Peeta’s side. “Bird now?” She asks.  


Peeta laughs, lifting the girl into his lap. “Yes, Katniss is just like a bird. And when she sings all the other birds stop to listen it’s so pretty.” He busies himself with finger-combing Ava’s hair.  


“Preddy.” Ava repeats seriously, looking at me.  


I flush and look away. No wonder I can’t talk to Peeta. I can hardly cope with him telling a silly story to a child.  


_Sit up straight Katniss_ , Delly chides me. I roll my shoulders back. _Ask him about himself_.  


“How are you?” I say and cringe at my pathetic conversation starter.  


“I’m good thanks. Ava and I are having a lovely picnic. Aren’t we?” He says smoothly, tickling Ava’s sides and smiling a little at me. “And you? Good hunting today?”  


“Yeah, very successful.” I kick my foot against the ground, pushing myself on the swing a little. “I forgot my key, for the gate, that’s why I was in the tree. Had to get home.” I stumble over my lie.  


“Well lucky for us then. We got to see you in your natural habit.” Peeta says. He’s doing that half smile of his again.  


I scowl and pull the leaf from my hair, feeling more like a wild thing than ever.  


“Hey! Aim that laser glare elsewhere.” Peeta protests, rubbing the back of his neck. “I meant that as a compliment.”  


My stomach rolls. I’m saved from the horror of trying to work out what to do with a compliment from Peeta by him letting out a horrified yelp and lunging for Ava. “Ava! Spit that out.”  


She’s got a bundle of dandelions clenched in her chubby fist. A stray yellow petal is stuck to the drool on the side of her chin. I laugh and call out to him, reassuring him that dandelions are completely edible. I've eaten enough of them.  


“Are you sure?” He asks. He flops back on the blanket, propping his hands behind him. “Oh right, apprentice botanist and resident woodland expert. That’s exciting.”  


I nod, surprised he’s heard about my job offer. I guess most people have, new opportunities like that are novel in Twelve. I push myself on the swing a little, lifting my feet out of the grass.  


“You can’t eat these can you?” He gestures to the pile of white flowers beside him. “I feel bad. We practically stripped the whole meadow.”  


I laugh.  


“You can make wine with them, but I have a better idea.” I say.  


I kneel down beside him on the blanket. I run my thumbnail through the stem of a daisy, then thread another daisy through it, showing him what I’m doing. Peeta picks up the method quickly, pulling together his own short string of flowers. Ava wanders back over, sitting between us, leaning on my bare knee with her sticky fingers. I hum to her as I thread dandelions as well as daisies together, trying not to look at Peeta’s hands.  


“How do I finish it?” Peeta asks eventually.  


I take his short chain from him, rounding off the end to make a tidy crown. I lay it onto Ava’s head. She looks a picture, with her round blue eyes staring seriously at me and the daisies floating on her golden curls. Peeta’s looking at her too, a gentle smile on his face. There’s a smattering of golden freckles across the bridge of his nose that I’ve never been close enough to see before. My stomach flutters again.  


Impulsively, I lean over and place my completed chain on Peeta’s head. “For you.” I say, pushing his messy waves off his forehead.  


I realise what I did just as Peeta reaches up to grab my hand, startled. I shoot to my feet, knocking Ava back into Peeta’s lap.  


“Now you’re matching.” I stammer, avoiding his wide-eyed gaze. Ava seems unaffected by my awkwardness, blowing me a bye-bye kiss as I scoop up my bag and bolt across the meadow, hand tingling. 

I try to think of what Delly would say in this circumstance, but all I can recall is her parting advice.  


_Just be yourself._

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Thanks so much for the prompt @567inpanem. I got super excited and planned out a multichapter fic response to this prompt, but considering I’ve got two other two Everlark multi chapter WIPs I abandoned. Instead I crafted a one shot from a scene in the story I planned, which still fits the prompt. When I have some free time I’d love to revisit and expand on the world presented in the prompt. Thanks to @xerxia31 and @javistg for organising!


End file.
